Blowing Palms, Red Car and Moon Memory
Blowing Palms in Dirt Yard
Big storm coming to Tucson. The clouds and wind have been building all day. Temperatures dropped. Sky darkened.
After work, I threw on my running clothes and hit the streets. Ran 9.5 miles and was astounded at the glow from the hovering clouds. Everything radiated color and a soft saturated light. I spotted at least half a dozen dirt yards I wanted to shoot tonight.
At one point, I literally ran into an owl. He was perched on top of a 25 mph speed limit sign. Thick, solid and silent. I bent over for a minute to get the camera ready on my phone, looked up, and he was gone. Stealth owl. I didn’t hear a thing. He took off in silence.
One street later, he swooped right over my head sailing on silent magnificent wings. I stopped in awe and looked for him. He vanished into the shadows.
When I got home, I grabbed my tripod and camera and intended to shoot a lot of dirt yards. I didn’t want to miss out on the magnificent pre-hurricane light. I stopped at this house with the blowing palm trees. It was hard to capture, and sixty second exposures take a long time. This one could use some additional work, but I’m tired.
Red Car in Dirt Yard
I turned around and spotted the house with the beat-to-shit red car. I think it’s a Datsun, or the remnants of a Datsun. I decided to shoot it.
As I was waiting for the exposure to finish, a woman walked up to me from a house down the street. “Hey,” she called out. I explained I was a photographer and told her I shoot Dirt Yards at Night. The very first thing she said was, “Shoot my yard!” I looked at her yard and told her there were too many lighting accessories. That they ruin the shot. That all the elements have to be just right.
When I saw the disappointment on her face, I walked over to her house, took a closer look and said, “I’ll shoot your yard.” I peeked around the corner and spotted a trailer in an expanse of dirt. It was familiar. I recognized it.
“I have shot your yard!” I was so excited to let her know.
Trailer and Moon (April 2013)
I pulled up my Facebook on my phone and eventually found the photo of the trailer in her yard. She studied it closely and happily. She pointed and said, “Look at that moon.” It turns out that I called the photo “Trailer and Moon.” She explained that the tree on the right isn’t there anymore. "That's when we used to tarp it," she says and points to the trailer.
Then she told me that at first she thought I was a private detective. I think she was a little disappointed that I wasn’t. I pointed down to my PJs and told her I wear pajamas so that I’m unthreatening. I told her one of these days I’m going to get shot, and she’ll read about me in the headlines. She pointed down to her PJs and said that she was unthreatening too. Then she said, “Be careful out there.”
She explained who lives and doesn’t live in every house on her street. I have shot most of them. She told me about the female Sherriff, the one I see walking her dog in the morning with a giant handgun in a holster on her belt.
We eventually said goodbye, and I sent her the photo of her yard. I had many other yards I wanted to shoot tonight, but I was tired. For some reason my legs were shaking. I even got lost on the way home.
I looked up the photo of her yard on my blog. I shot it on April 14, 2013. My dad was dying at the time. I remember when I took the photo. The car in the yard reminded me of my dad’s old Crown Vic that he would never drive again.He used to tarp his car before he got too sick to do it, yet alone drive. A pang of sick loss ran through my gut. So acute. Her tree isn’t here anymore, and neither is my dad. He died the following October.
Hopefully I can beat the storm tomorrow night and capture some more of the other shots glowing under cloud cover. I figured tonight was a good night to quit while I was ahead. So I did.